


Thou Traveler Unknown

by Dearheart42



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Ender Series - Orson Scott Card, Ender's Game - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Crossing Timelines, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Formic War Angst, Friendship, Gen, Lots of it, Post Regeneration, Telepathy, Time War Angst, possibly some parental vibes later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-02-17 08:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2303129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearheart42/pseuds/Dearheart42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Doctor,” Ender whispered. “Is that you?”<br/>“No,” the man whispered back. “Not anymore.”</i>
</p><p>Long ago, in the aftermath of an impossible and bloody victory, a stranger in a blue box helped Ender Wiggin find his feet again. Now Ender is Andrew, centuries from home with secrets under his bed, and it is his turn to put the pieces of his war-torn old (new?) friend back together. (Time is so confusing.) </p><p>A wishful crossover what-if scenario that wouldn't get out of my head. This involves the 9th Doctor immediately post-regeneration and takes place after the events of "Investment Counselor" in the enderverse, but you don't have to be familiar with that story to get into this. <b>Each chapter will alternate between present and past in Ender's timeline, so don't get confused!</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Till I Thy Name, Thy Nature Know

_Come, O thou Traveler unknown,_  
 _Whom still I hold, but cannot see;_  
 _My company before is gone,_  
 _And I am left alone with thee._

_I need not tell thee who I am,_  
 _My misery and sin declare;_  
 _Thyself hast called me by my name,_  
 _Look on thy hands, and read it there._

_But who, I ask thee, who art thou?  
Tell me thy name, and tell me now._

—Charles Wesley

\--

“We are _not_ keeping it,” said Andrew.

“Quit being an insufferable prick and _help_ ,” gritted Valentine, wobbling slightly from the effort of holding up the six-foot half-conscious man in her arms.

After some stepped-on toes and cursing and awkward shifting of weight, they eventually managed to get “It” through the apartment doorway and onto the couch. The stranger crumpled over on his side and curled up in a tight ball, mumbling incoherent phrases under his breath, eyes tightly closed. He seemed either feverish or intoxicated. Or both. Andrew wasn’t sure which would be more inconvenient right now.

He turned to his sister, expressionless. “Dare I ask?”

“I think he might be dying,” said Valentine. “I don’t know. Something’s wrong with him, and you’re the only person I know who can figure out what to do.”

“I’m a speaker, not a doctor. But there are these wonderfully convenient things called ‘hospitals’; perhaps you’ve heard of them.”

“I can’t take him there. He wouldn’t be safe.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s…” She stopped herself and closed her eyes. “This isn’t a joke, and I didn’t hallucinate or—”

“Just tell me,” sighed Andrew.

Valentine reached for him, hesitated, and he gave her a small nod to let her know she could.

She gripped his arms. Andrew felt a shiver go through her. Her eyes were bright, exhilarated, fearful. “I don’t think he’s human,” she whispered.

He stared at her for a long moment, mind spinning. That had _not_ been the story he’d been expecting.

“You don’t think he’s ‘human’,” he repeated quietly. “By which you mean…?”

Valentine nodded.

Andrew took a deep breath. “Tell me what happened. Every detail.”

She described to him how the man stumbled dazed out into the street and bumped into her. How he collapsed to the ground, shaking and clinging to her; and she saw wisps of soft fire rising from his fingers, spilling from his open mouth. “He was _shimmering_. When I looked at his hands, I could see light swimming through his veins. I tried to ask him what was wrong, what his name was, but it was like he couldn’t speak. Or couldn’t remember _how_ to speak.”

“And how does this make him alien? How do we know he’s not simply a human with some disease or drug we don’t know about?”

“I’m not finished.” Valentine glanced at their muttering guest on the couch. Again, her voice dropped to a whisper. “While I was trying to talk to him, he reached up and pressed his hands to my temples – and I could hear him. I could see things. In my head.” Like you can with _Her_ , said the implication hanging in the air.

A chill went up his spine. “What did he say?”

“It was hard to make out anything; there was so much clamor and confusion. It felt like a crowd of thoughts rushing to scramble over a wall. The only words I understood were, ‘They’re gone’.  I saw a red planet, and a burst of light, and there was fire and blood and anguish. So much anguish.” The memory of it clouded her eyes. “It felt like a war, Ender.”

“Valentine,” he said, heartbeat quickening, “I need you to think back, very carefully. Before you saw him, did you hear any unusual sounds?”

“I don’t know, the street was busy. All the sounds I heard blended into each other.”

“Did you see anything around you that looked…out of place? An odd object or color? Anything anachronistic?”

Valentine thought for a second, then shook her head. “I thought I saw something bright blue out of the corner of my eye when we started walking, but other than that, I can’t think of anything. Why?”

Ender didn’t answer. He walked over to the trembling man and crouched down, reached out to touch his hand – slowly, gently, as if soothing a frightened animal. The man was chanting to himself now, forehead creased in agitation, gray-blue eyes staring into nothingness. “ _Zagreus sits inside your head, Zagreus lives among the dead_ …”

“Do you know me?” asked Ender softly.

“ _Zagreus waits at the end of the world, for Zagreus is the end of the world_.” The man choked on the last syllable, tears filling his eyes.

“Doctor,” Ender whispered. “Is that you?”

“No,” the man whispered back. “Not anymore.”

And then he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Song inspiration:**_  
> ["Come O Thou Traveler Unknown"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hfVUGob7Uvw) \- written by Charles Wesley in 1742. (The tune is Scottish.)  
> ["The Doctor's Theme"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRrOI7By5fc) \- Murray Gold
> 
> The lines the Doctor is chanting come from [an old Gallifreyan nursery rhyme, called "Zagreus"](http://timepiececlock.dreamwidth.org/919433.html) (which we are introduced to in one of the 8th Doctor's _Big Finish_ audiodramas, also called "Zagreus"). I decided to throw in references to it not only because of its significance to the Doctor, but also because those particular lines eerily reminded me of Ender. Or at least, how Ender sees himself. (Yeah, this fic's gonna be full of angsty Ender/Doctor parallels...)
> 
> The titles for each part/chapter are taken from [ other stanzas of the "Traveler" hymn.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Come,_O_Thou_Traveler_Unknown) Because that hymn is frickin gorgeous and I love it and I want to pretend I'm artsy and profound and stuff. Shush.


	2. Yield To Me Now, For I Am Weak

Ender shook the nice young lady’s hand and took the chair she offered him, his face politely blank, as always. She was the third one they had tried to assign to him – oddly enough, she specifically requested to work with him – but she would give up, just like the others.

He hoped it happened soon. He hoped even more that they would take the hint after this and leave him alone. Pushing therapy on him might soothe  _their_ consciences, but he had no intention of letting anyone pry open his mind any more than they already had.

The lady smiled at him. She held herself with confidence and her face was honest. If she wasn’t there to prod him with personal questions, he’d smile back. Maybe.

“Would you like me to call you ‘Andrew’ or ‘Ender’?” she asked. Her British accent was bright and crisp.

“Ender,” he said.

“Alright, Ender. You can call me Oswald.”

He nodded, and planned not to say another word to her.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” said Oswald, primly crossing her legs as she studied the desk on her lap. All business now. But the clever smile was still in her eyes. “As you probably know, I’m one of the juvenile psychologists assigned to evaluate you. I’ve also been appointed as your new therapist. But…” She tossed the desk aside and folded her arms. “I think you and I both know _that_ isn’t going to go anywhere. You’ve already sent two therapists away totally exasperated, and you think I’ll be next. But I don’t want to fight any pointless passive-aggressive battles with you. So I won’t bother.”

Ender let nothing show on his face, but he was surprised. The others were never so straightforward with him so quickly. And why had she requested to be his therapist if she never intended to be?

“You don’t even confide in your friends, from what I hear…and if you won’t confide in your friends, you certainly won’t confide in anyone else. Let alone me. You’ve locked yourself up and thrown away the key, and I can’t say I blame you.”

No pitying glances, no pretense of “understanding his pain”, no impatience at his cold silence. Every word from her was frank and undaunted and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of liking her, and that made him all the more wary.

Graff seemed honest in the beginning, too.

I'm not that 6-year-old anymore. If this monologue happens to be some technique to disarm me or win my trust or anything else, whatever it is, whatever they want, it _won’t_ work.

Cynicism was so draining.

“So, Ender, instead of me wasting time trying to get you to talk about your feelings, here is what’s going to happen. Over the next week or so, I’m going to have you take a series of very dull psychological tests. A necessary evil, I’m afraid,” she added dryly. “A lot of higher-ups will get in a lot of hot water if you don’t. It's obvious most of this concerned fuss over your mental wellbeing is just to cover their own backsides. But I’ll try to help you get it all over with as soon as possible.”

Distrust aside, he definitely liked her now, in spite of himself. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

“And as for the therapy issue – or  _no **-**_ therapy issue, rather – I’m going to suggest something a little unconventional. Doctor-patient confidentiality protects us from being recorded, so if we’re careful, nobody will get in trouble. Instead of bringing you in for sessions with me, I’m going to contact a friend of mine to come visit you. ”

“What do you mean by ‘friend’?” asked Ender. It was the first time he’d broken his pattern of uncooperative silence. If Oswald noticed, she didn’t draw attention to it.

“Not a therapist,” she reassured him. “Not a psychologist, not someone paid to be nice to you or poke at your mind…just a traveler, and a good man. He was a soldier himself, once. Dangerously clever, like you. He’s cocky, I’ll warn you, and probably a bit mad. But he owes me a favor, and I think he might be the only person in the universe who can do you any substantial good right now. So I want to have him meet you. Can’t guarantee he’ll arrive on time, though.” She playfully raised an eyebrow as if she just let him in on an inside joke.

Unamused, Ender lifted an eyebrow back. “I don’t need another Mazer. What makes you think I’ll agree to this?”

“Simple: you’re bored. _Very_  bored. And the fact that you’re talking to me now tells me this idea has caught your interest, at least a little. Be honest, who would you rather see? Another therapist, or an adventurer with stories to tell?”

“Neither.”

“If you don’t like him, you’ll never have to see him again. But if there’s one thing I can promise you – from personal experience – it’s that there’s never a dull moment when he shows up. At the very least, this could prove to be a welcome distraction for you.”

“I’ve already had plenty of fun surprises in my life. You can keep yours.”

Oswald sighed. Ender smiled inwardly, bitterly. It seemed even  _her_  patience wasn’t limitless.

But her face showed neither anger nor pity. She looked…disappointed. Not defeated, but rather as if she had offered a treasured gift and he pushed it away.

In truth, his interest was already overriding his suspicion. Because she was right, he  _was_  bored; and he didn’t currently have the energy to care whether her friend was really an adventurer or a potential abductor hired by whichever government wanted him most. He doubted it was the latter. The League War had ended over two months ago. Plus, capturing and/or killing Ender Wiggin via mysterious stranger introduced by therapist wasn’t the most feasible idea out there. This room was a vulnerable spot, due to the lack of recording, but the doctor/patient confidentiality factor would make it far easier for the therapist to do the deed, not a “friend”.

If Oswald wanted to abduct or kill him, she would have done it by now. And if this man was a trap, she wouldn’t have been stupid enough to describe the idea as “unconventional” or make him sound so suspicious.

Something in Ender wanted to be convinced to say ‘yes’. So he waited, and watched to see if Oswald’s belief in her friend was stronger than his aloof rejection of it.

Her voice was quiet when she spoke again. “I won’t presume to tell you what you need, Ender. Only you know that. Or, perhaps you don’t know.” She shrugged, quirked her lips. “I’m not a mind-reader. If you don’t want this, I won’t force you. But I do think meeting him would be good for you. I’m not trying to make a sales pitch. I’m trying to do my job: to help you. And I'm trying to tell you that finding common ground with someone, even a stranger, could help you in many ways.  _Could._  I won’t make any wild guarantees. But if you don’t want to be helped…”

Finally, here it comes. The I-can’t-help-you-if-you-don’t-want-to-be-helped speech.

“…well, that’s okay, too. Healing is optional. It is not something you or anyone is ever obligated to do.”

Oh.

Once again, Ender was surprised by her. Nobody else had told him that before. Now that she'd said it, it sounded stupidly obvious, but he felt as if the words just allowed him to let out a breath he’d been holding for weeks.

“Other people may act like it is,” she continued. “But you owe them nothing, and you owe  _me_  nothing. If you’d rather not have any more therapists or visitors pushed on you, I can arrange for that instead. I’m giving the choice to you. Right now. Which option would you prefer?”

What's the catch, Oswald? Why are you so eager for me to see this man? Why are you acting like you care, and why are you making it so convincing?

“Why are you really doing this?” he asked.

“I know you've had a lot of enemies and puppetmasters,” said Oswald. “And most of them were adults. You have every right to be suspicious of me; especially considering how odd my suggestion is. But I promise, not every adult you meet is an enemy.”

For the first time since their conversation started, he saw pity in her eyes. And for the first time since his victory, he felt no resentment of it.

“Decent people still exist, and I try my best to be one of them. I am here to be  _for_  you, Ender, not against you. I will respect whatever decision you make.” She bent over in her chair to pick up her desk and began typing into it. “I’ll request the legal documents, if you’d like proof.”

It wasn’t needed. He still didn’t trust her – he didn’t trust anyone – but he sensed no malice or ulterior motives in her, either.

No more therapists. No more attempts at prying into his thoughts. No more pressure to “work through the grieving process”. Five minutes earlier, Ender would have jumped at this option without a second thought. He still wanted to.

And yet, he found himself asking, “What’s his name?”

Oswald smiled and stopped typing. “He just calls himself ‘The Doctor’. No, no, don’t worry,” she chuckled, seeing the skepticism return to his face. “I told you. He’s not  _that_ kind of doctor, I promise.”

“Then what kind is he?” The vague hints were starting to get on his nerves.

She paused. “You know, that’s a very good question.”

She thought about it, head tilted slightly, and her smile grew soft.

“I suppose the kind of doctor he is,” she said, “often depends on the kind of person you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Song inspiration:**_  
> ["When The Love Falls"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVeD9b8cgow) \- Yiruma
> 
> oh. mygosh. THIS WAS SO HARD TO WRITE HOLY CRAP IT TOOK ME FOUR FREAKING MONTHS BUT IT’S FINALLY DONE. I slaved and slaved over Ender’s thought processes in this chapter and I really really hope I got it right. (Or at least made it somewhat believable.) Convincing a depressed cynical distrustful passive-aggressive genius boy to meet with some weird “Doctor” he’s never met is _not easy._
> 
> anyway...flashback time, wibbly wobbly! And if any Whovians are wondering, no - this is NOT the present-day Clara Oswin Oswald we're currently rolling with. This is one of the "splinters" of her that were born/scattered when she jumped into the Doctor's timestream to save him. Just like many of her other versions, she's got a heart for helping young people. =)


End file.
